


The Steelrod Chronicles

by the_deep_magic



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe, First Time, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Watching, Pornstars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-29
Updated: 2011-05-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 21:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU – 5 times Chris sort of regretted having a porn star as a roommate and 1(.5) time(s) he didn’t mind so much</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Steelrod Chronicles

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: brief Chris/OMC, Zach/OMCs, talk of medical procedures

It wasn’t a girly scream, no matter what Zach says.  Yes, it was a bit high-pitched, but under the circumstances, that’s completely understandable, even appropriate.

“ _Zachary_!”

He comes running down the hall.  “You just scared the shit out of me, Chris!  What is it?”

“There is a… a _creature_ in the bathroom.”

“What kind of creature?”

“I don’t fucking _know_ , or else I would have been more specific than ‘creature,’ wouldn’t I?  All I know is that it’s got fur.  Thick, black, horrible fur, and it was hanging out on the sink.”

Zach shudders visibly.  “Was it… is it… a rat?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, did it have a tail?”

“Jesus, I told you, I don’t know _what_ the fuck it is! I didn’t stand around and fucking pet it!”

“My my, don’t you have a potty mouth when you’re alarmed.”

“Alright, asshole, _you_ go in there and see if you come out talking like the Church Lady.”

“I’m not going in there.”

“Well, one of us has to, and I’ve already been.”

Evidently they’ve reached a standoff, and Chris glares at Zach, trying to make him back down.  Problem is, Zach’s got his own rather intimidating glare-face, but Chris isn’t letting him have this one.  No way.

Finally, Zach relents.  “Fine, I’ll go in there.  But if I get the bubonic plague, you’re going to be the one cleaning my sores.”

Chris rolls his eyes.  “Just go.  At least find out what it is before it runs away.”

“Pus-filled, weeping sores,” Zach mutters as he edges down the hallway toward the still-open door of the bathroom.  Chris can tell he’s trying very hard to be macho about it, but he knows that Zach hates rodents.  He speeds up and swerves _in_ when he sees a possum on the road.

Chris hears Zach take a deep breath, and then he disappears into the bathroom.  And then… nothing.

Not a sound.

Chris starts to worry.  Sure, if Zach had actually been bitten or attacked or something, there would’ve been a scream or at least a loud thud.  Chris decides to give it to the count of five before he heads over there.  After all, Zach pays half the rent, and if he dies, Chris is definitely going to have to move out.  One… two… three…

“BAHAHAHAHA!”

 _That’s an odd scream of terror_ , Chris thinks, utterly perplexed.

“Christopher, get in here!”

“What is it?”

“I can’t… you have to…”  Zach can’t seem to finish a sentence without laughing.  Evidently, whatever’s in there has already driven Zach out of his mind.

Chris rounds the corner and gets the black, hairy thing waved in his face.  Again, not a girly scream, but he does flail so hard that he slams his elbow against the doorframe and everything goes pink around the edges for a few moments.

“What the everloving _fuck_!”

“This is what you were afraid of!” Zach shrieks with nothing short of delight.  “This!”

Chris tries to get a good look at it as Zach waves it around.  It’s still dark and furry, but it’s also completely flat and… sticky?

“One of my waxing strips!” Zach hoots.  “You thought it was, like, a wolverine or something!”

There’s so much adrenaline pumping through Chris’ system that it takes a few seconds before he can even speak.  “What the fuck is one of your waxing strips doing out on the counter?  Zach, that’s fucking disgusting.”

Zach, who is evidently not finished humiliating Chris, flicks the strip at him again.  “Ooh, look out, it might bite you and give you rabies!”

“I’m more worried about _you_ giving me rabies, you fucking psycho,” Chris groans, rubbing at his throbbing elbow.  “If you ever leave one of your pube strips out again, so help me god—”

“Relax, Chrissy, it’s just chest hair,” Zach sighs.  “J.J. wants me bare for the next shoot.  God knows why, since the body hair is part of my whole _thing_ , but whatever.”

Chris had a life before this; he knows he did, he just can’t remember it.  Can’t remember when sentences like that made absolutely no sense whatsoever and he was perfectly happy with that.

“If it makes you feel any better, it stung like a bitch,” Zach says breezily as he leaves the bathroom, strip in hand.  Chris sits down on the tub and puts his head between his legs.

Behold the tribulations of living with Zachary “Steelrod” Quinto, Porn Star.

&&&

Aside from the occasional moment like that, Chris might not even have known if Zach hadn’t told him, a conversation that took place the very same day he came over to check out the apartment.

Everything seemed on the up-and-up – reasonably clean place (even if there were books everywhere), working appliances, a complete lack of dead bodies – and then Zach had turned to him and said, “Oh, and I’m an actor in porn.  Gay porn.  You have a problem with that?”

Chris had considered that for a moment.  “Will I have to start calling it the ‘adult film industry’?”

To his surprised, Zach had actually laughed.  “No, porn’s fine.  Now, is it going to be too weird sharing a bathroom?  This is the only one.”

Honestly, that was the only lie Chris told to get the room.

But Zach doesn’t talk much about his job unless Chris asks him directly, which doesn’t happen often; Chris thinks that’s probably the reason Zach puts up with him.  Chris pays half the rent, but Zach’s the one who picks up most of the incidentals, like milk and dish soap and toilet paper.  Chris isn’t exactly sure how much Zach makes, but even though it’s much better than his pay at the restaurant, it isn’t rock star money.  And it’s not like there are sex toys strewn all over the apartment or drugged-out twinks chained naked to the walls.  Zach dresses and acts more like a hipster-nerd than a porn star, whatever it is porn stars wear when they’re not porning.  All in all, it’s actually almost distressingly normal.

Chris has never watched any of Zach’s movies, nor does he intend to.  He has a hard enough time reconciling “Zach Steelrod,” professional ass-plunderer, with the guy who comes home after work, throws on a ratty old cardigan, and reads Vonnegut until The Simpsons comes on.

Plus, Chris has never really been into porn – the pro stuff is just so fake-y, and the amateur stuff feels too voyeuristic.  Every male friend he’s ever had has given him shit about it, but when he confesses it to Zach one night over beer and Boggle, Zach just shrugs and says, “Don’t blame you.  I get more turned on scrubbing the grout these days.”

To Chris, who has admittedly had more beer than Boggle rounds, finds this the funniest fucking thing he has ever heard.  “Ooh, yeah, baby, scrub me harder!” he giggles.

Zach snorts with laughter.  “Oh my god, yes, use the bleach!  Make it whiter!  Whiter!”  In the process, he drops the last remaining little pencil stub somewhere between the couch cushions, and Boggle is abandoned.

Of course, there are downsides to living with a gay porn star, even if (or possibly _especially_ if) you are, yourself, gay.  There’s this guy that has been coming into Chris’ restaurant a couple times a week for about a month now.  Chris is pretty sure the guy’s not there just for him, but it feels good to think that he is.  The guy – Kevin, Chris sees on the receipt – is all kinds of cute, with curly hair and honest-to-god dimples, but just enough shrewdness in his smile to make Chris wonder what that mouth is capable of.

So when Kevin hangs around until closing one night, Chris asks him out.  Well, he intends to ask him out, but what actually happens is that they end up making out next to the dumpster until Chris realizes they’re making out next to the _dumpster_ and invites Kevin back to his place.  Yeah, so, okay, probably not the great romance of the ages, but Chris hasn’t had anyone over in a long time, and Zach’s cool with it – he usually sleeps with his earphones in, anyway.

Then Chris has Kevin practically on top of him on the living room couch.  They should really go back to his room, but _fuck_ , it’s been so long and Kevin’s already got a hand shoved down Chris’ pants, squeezing him just a little too tightly in a way that makes Chris’ eyes roll back in his head.  Chris turns his head to bury his face against the couch cushion and moan as Kevin draws him out of his briefs.  He feels Kevin’s hot, wet mouth descend to his twitching stomach, working slowly downward…

And then the lights snap on.

“GAAAAAAAH, THE FUCK?” comes a voice from the other side of the room.

That warm, heavenly mouth moves away, and Chris looks up over the back of the couch in time to see Zach – earphones still in and plugged into his iPod – go from startled to wary to grinning conspiratorially as he pieces it together.  “Shit, Chris, I’m sorry, I was just hungry and I didn’t—Okay, I’m going now, gonna turn my music up nice and loud.  You boys have fun and play safe.”

Chris flips him off, then sinks back down on the couch with a groan, hoping Kevin will get back to business without needing to be told.  But Chris’ head barely hits the cushion before he hears a curious “Hey, aren’t you…”

And Kevin is staring open-mouthed at Zach.

Fuck it all.

Fuck it all _so hard_.

To his credit, Zach tries to walk away.  “Nope,” he says, “g’night.”

“Yeah, you are.  You’re Zach Steelrod.”

“No, that’s really not—”

“I’m, like, your _biggest_ fan,” Kevin gushes, having obviously forgotten about Chris and the awesome blow job that was just about to go down.

“Look, I don’t—” Zach starts again, but Kevin cuts him off.

“Seriously, I’ve downloaded _all_ of your movies.  Like, legally, even.”

“Um, thanks?” Zach says, unfailingly polite as always.  With a sigh, Chris looks down his body at his dick, now wilting rather pathetically.  It’s just as well – not like he’s getting any tonight.  Not now.

Kevin is still babbling some inane question about what it was like to fuck so-and-so, is what’s-his-name’s cock really _that_ big, and Chris can see that despite the annoyance on his face, Zach is just the teeniest, tiniest bit flattered.  A porn star who likes the attention – who knew? 

But before long Zach’s embarrassment outweighs his ego’s need to be stroked.  “Hey, um…” he interrupts.

“Kevin.”

“Yeah, Kevin, look, I need to get back to bed.  I’ve, uh, got a shoot in the morning, so I need my rest.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Kevin says, nodding so hard that Chris sincerely hopes he sprains something important.  “But could you just, like, sign something for me?”

“Um, okay, what do you want me to sign?”

If Kevin tugs up his shirt and offers Zach a tit, Chris really is going to kill someone, and he’s not going to be sorry about it.  But Kevin spies a notebook – which is Chris’, by the way – lying on the coffee table and tears out a blank page.  Chris can’t even watch as Zach signs it, Kevin blissfully oblivious to the tension in the room.

Finally, Kevin lets Zach retreat back toward his room, which he does almost comically fast.  Then Kevin turns to Chris, stars in his eyes.  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’re Zach Steelrod’s roommate!”

Yeah, next time Chris is definitely spitting in Kevin’s food.

&&&

Another day, another failed audition.  Though it’s legitimately not Chris’ fault this time, not unless he can somehow be blamed for being two inches too tall.  Advanced CGI technology that can create an entire planet full of blue cat people and it can’t make Chris two inches shorter?

He lets himself into the apartment, sure he’s alone in his self-pity until he hears a small, pathetic, “Chris, is that you?”

“Who the hell else would it be?” he answers peevishly.

“Chris, I need your help.”

Chris follows the pitiful voice and occasional soft whimper back to Zach’s bedroom.  “If anything, I don’t know, got stuck while you were at work, I’m not pulling it out.  I’ll drive you to the hospital, but I’m not pulling it out.”

Zach doesn’t laugh, not even a little bit, which is a pretty bad sign.  When Chris gets to his doorway, Zach’s curled up on the bed.  Upon seeing Chris, he sits up rather gingerly and scoots forward on the bed, which is just about the time Chris get an eyeful of…

“Jesus, Zach, put that thing away!  You’ll take somebody’s eye out!”

“I can’t!” Zach yelps, sounding truly distressed, but quickly quiets back down to a pained murmur.  “You know on the commercial, when it says to seek medical help if it lasts longer than four hours?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re going on six here.”

“Oh…” Chris says, turning to face Zach again, but keeping his eyes firmly on Zach’s face.  Well, at least he’s wearing underwear.  “Oh god.”

“Yeah.  So, um.  Could you maybe drive me to the hospital?  I would’ve driven myself, but I can definitively say there is no blood in my brain right now.”

“How did you even get home?”

Zach grimaces.  “It was… unpleasant, and I almost hit a bus.  Can we go?  _Now_?”

“Yeah, of course, come on,” Chris says, unsure whether he should offer an arm to help Zach up or just let him fight it out on his own.

Zach manages, but his posture is suffering a bit.  “Can I borrow some sweatpants?”

“Sure,” Chris says, darting out of the room to allow Zach to collect himself for a moment.

As he digs through his drawer looking for his cleanest pair of sweatpants, Chris takes a moment to be grateful.  Sure, he blew an audition, but things could be much, _much_ worse.

&

Blessedly, the waiting room in the ER is fairly empty, though Zach’s still got a small stack of forms to get through before he can see anyone.  Or rather, Chris has the forms, since Zach’s really not in any condition to do much of anything that requires fine muscle control.

“Zach, what’s your social security number?”

“Here, I can fill that one in at least,” Zach says, taking the clipboard and setting awkwardly on his lap as far from his crotch as possible.  The numbers are legible, but Zach seems happy to let Chris have the clipboard back when he’s done.

Really, it’s a bit odd how much of the information Chris knows without having to ask.  He has to check on the street number, but other than that, he knows Zach’s mom’s address and phone number, which Zach – adorable little fucker that he is – still has down as his emergency contact.  Chris is reasonably sure they won’t call her about this, since Chris is here, but he’s really going to have to talk to Zach about getting that changed.  Zach’s mom thinks he does particularly well-paying community theater.

Under occupation, Chris puts down “performer,” since that’s generally Zach’s answer to the “So, what do you do?” question.  And since it’s LA, most people roll their eyes and figure Zach must do things like douse himself in blue paint and stand in front of the La Brea Tar Pits in order to make a statement about man’s inhumanity to man, or some shit like that.

Chris would have finished filling out the forms a long time ago, except his eyes keep wanting to sneak over to Zach’s lap to try to get a peek at the painfully-tumescent goods.  Zach’s not shy about his body, and Chris has gotten glimpses here and there, but never a good look and never while Zach was hard.  Okay, he’s still not exactly interested in viewing Zach’s, um, professional endeavors, but he can’t help but be curious about his equipment.  Working in the industry means you’re pretty much required to have… substantial assets, right?  It’s not _that_ weird that Chris wants to know.  Right?

Eh, what the hell.  Hopefully, this is all going to be a blur to Zach once everything is a little less… turgid.  “Um, Zach?  I know this is kind of weird, but, uh… how big… is it?  When you’re, y’know, hard?”

Zach glances over at him with disbelieving eyes.  “That cannot _possibly_ be on the form.”

“No, no, it’s not, I just— Fuck, that was a stupid thing to—”

“Eight and a quarter inches,” Zach says, smiling – albeit weakly – for the first time since Chris came home.  “On the small side for the biz, actually, though the Powers That Be usually round up to nine or ten for publicity purposes.  As long as I’m not fucking next to a yardstick, no one really questions it.”

“No, it’s… I mean, that’s… plenty big?  Oh my god, Christopher, shut your mouth.”

It wasn’t really Chris’ intention, but that actually gets a chuckle out of Zach, and it eases some of the tension in Chris’ chest.  “Well, I’ll say this – you always know how to make me laugh.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“You can ask me whatever you want, you know,” Zach says, his face oddly solemn.  “Not just today, I mean.  I appreciate that you give me privacy, but I know you’re curious sometimes.”

Chris nods, and now he can’t help himself.  “Do you take Viagra a lot?”

“No.  Some of the guys do.  I’ve only taken it maybe half a dozen times, ever.”

“But, um…” Chris fidgets.  “Why?  I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.  Is there… something wrong?”

Zach snorts, causing several people to look over at them, but fortunately he’s hunched down so low that Chris doubts anyone can see why they’re here.  “I haven’t broken my dick yet, if that’s what you’re asking.  Nah , believe it or not, sometimes I just don’t really feel like fucking some greasy frat boy with a five-word vocabulary and medically-relevant B.O.”

Well, of course, Chris should have thought of that.  It seems he’s as guilty of glamorizing Zach’s job as everyone else.  But that’s just what it is – a job.

Zach jolts him out of his train of thought, jabbing him in the arm and saying, “Hey, you finished with those forms yet?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.”

“Well, then go turn the fucking things in,” Zach laughs, even though a light sweat is breaking out across his forehead.  “I’d like to make it out of here with my dick still attached.”

Chris springs up immediately to take the papers over.  He doesn’t think that’s really what the ER staff is waiting on, but even so, Zach is taking this with so much better humor than Chris would in his position.  He hands the clipboard to the nurse behind the desk.  “Ma’am, could you tell me how much longer it’s going to be?  My friend is in quite a bit of pain.”

The woman checks something in the computer, then says, “It shouldn’t be long.”

Chris almost leaves then, but while he’s here, he might as well ask.  “Could you possibly tell me…”  He leans over the desk.  “What’s the medical treatment for, uh, priapism?”

The woman doesn’t even blink; god knows what she must see on a daily basis.  “Well, the first course of treatment is usually a pseudoephedrine pill to try to restore normal blood flow away from the penis.”

“Uh-huh,” Chris says, keeping his Not Panicking Face on.  “Is there a second course?”

“If the pill doesn’t work, the doctor will probably need to aspirate blood from the erectile tissue.”

“Aspirate?”

“With a needle.”

Chris seems to have lost control of his voice, because when he speaks, his voice is about three octaves higher.  “Is there a third course?”

The nurse glances over at Zach, sitting curled over himself on the chair.  “Is your friend a religious man?”

“Religious?  I don’t think so.  Spiritual, maybe?”

“Mmm-hmm.  Well, I suggest you both start praying that the first two courses work.”

&

About an hour later, Zach stumbles back out through the double doors, limping like a wounded soldier, his eyes wide and unseeing.  Chris leaps out of his chair, racing over to Zach but restraining himself from actually touching him.  Chris has the feeling that probably wouldn’t be the best course of action right now.  Maybe he ought to ask the nurse for a pamphlet on post-traumatic stress.

He tries his damnedest to be cheerful.  “Hey, buddy, you okay?  Everything still… in place?”

Slowly, eyes still unfocused and staring straight ahead, Zach nods.

“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”

Zach shakes his head.

Well, thank god for that.  “Do you want to stop and get cupcakes on the way home?”

It takes a moment, but Zach eventually nods.

“Okay, let’s stop and get cupcakes on the way home.”

&&&

When Chris finally crosses the Rubicon, it’s 2:30 on a Tuesday afternoon.  It probably would’ve been more appropriate in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm, but if there’s anything in Chris’ life that could be described as “appropriate,” he can’t think of it.

He’s been prepping for an audition for hours and he’s fucking sick of it.  The thing’s not for another two days, and he needs a break.  It’s still a few hours until his shift at the restaurant starts, so he fires up his fairly ancient laptop to see what he’s been missing in the world.

Twenty minutes go by, and though he’d swear he doesn’t know how it happened, he finds himself searching his roommate’s stage name on a bit torrent site.  Damn it, he _is_ curious about what Zach does.  He always comes home at the end of the day already showered, back in his own clothes, and maybe a little bit peaked, but nothing to indicate the depths of depravity in which he has engaged during working hours.  Chris has slowly started asking questions as they occur to him, but he does have the unique opportunity to actually see for himself… and Zach never has to know.

Chris doesn’t even know where to start.  Apparently, Zach is quite the prolific performer, but Chris doesn’t recognize the names and he feels vaguely uncomfortable watching anything with “Butt Boyz” in the title.  He ends up picking the most downloaded one, because surely 50,000 internet perverts can’t _all_ be wrong.

It downloads surprisingly quickly, but Chris still can’t sit there and watch the little progress bar inch across the screen, silently judging him as it loads.  He’s aware he might have a few unusual hang-ups.  When he returns to the computer with a freshly-popped back of popcorn (because he’s hungry, and why the hell not?), the video’s all ready to go.

The quality isn’t great and it’s missing a minute or two at the beginning, but Chris is confident in his ability to follow the plot anyway.  Something about two shirtless, distractingly shiny jocks having a weightlifting contest.  The character development is sketchy at best and the transition from exercise to sloppy makeouts practically nonexistent, so Chris shakes his head sadly at the screen, cramming another handful of popcorn into his mouth.

Everything so far is confirming Chris’ conviction that there’s just nothing sexy about it.  The noises (which are pretty much Chris’ favorite part of sex; well, aside from the orgasms) are obviously faked and the dirty talk is peppered with hilariously awkward puns about squat-thrusting and clean jerking.  At one point, the guy getting fucked on hands and knees on the weight bench begins not-so-subtly lifting his downstage leg so the camera can get a better view of his cock, and he looks so much like a peeing dog that Chris considers screencapping it and Photoshopping in a little fire hydrant.  Or, you know, whatever the MS Paint equivalent is.  Zach would find it hilarious, but Zach would also know that Chris has watched his stuff, so no dice.

Chris finishes his popcorn just about the time that Hans and Franz finally shoot, and he’s considering giving up the whole thing when the scene switches to the two of them walking down a hallway lined with lockers.  Okay, so they’re supposed to be in high school?  That hits some of Chris’ creeper buttons, but the actors are both rather obviously in their mid twenties, so he’s not too skeeved out to keep watching.  He doesn’t bother to pause it when he gets up to wash the faux-butter off his hands, and when he shuts the kitchen faucet off, he hears a familiar voice issuing out of the tinny speakers.

Finally, Zach’s on screen, wearing an argyle sweater and a pair of pleated khakis.  Pleated.  _Zach_.  It makes Chris briefly reconsider his decision to never mention this to Zach, since the potential for mockery is off the charts.  Chris finds himself leaning forward to hear Zach’s quiet, firm voice – he’s got some serious stage presence, quite the contrast from the two bubbleheads he’s talking to.  Ah, so he’s the nerdy yet stern math teacher; Chris knows this because the chalkboard behind Zach helpfully says “MATH.”  Chris can’t help but laugh – Zach teaching a math class would be an hour on how to use a calculator.

Apparently Tweedledee and Tweedledum haven’t been doing their homework, those naughty boys.  They try to backsass Zach, and Chris clucks his tongue – no way that’s going to end well for them.  Sure enough, Chris doesn’t have to wait long until Zach gives them what for.  One of the jocks, who’s as tall as Zach and much stockier, actually tries to shove Zach by the shoulder.  But Zach executes some kind of judo move and splays the guy out face-down across his desk without breaking a sweat.  Yeah, okay, that’s kind of hot.

So much for foreplay – Zach growls something predictable about teaching the guy a lesson and undoes his own fly with one hand while keeping the guy’s arm twisted behind his back with the other.  His friend looks kind of bored until the actor playing him suddenly remembers the camera’s still on and makes some kind of token protest.  But Zach’s already got desk guy’s pants down around his ankles, grabbing a condom out of the drawer and rolling it on without releasing Jock #1’s arm.  That’s some pretty impressive dexterity right there, Chris thinks.

He has to avert his eyes from the inevitable close-ups on the push in, since there’s only so much physical detail one needs to see of one’s roommate, even if one’s roommate’s dick is… rather attractive, as dicks go.  Nicely curved, thick without being downright frightening.  Chris tries not to dwell on that.

The camera pulls back again to show Zach taunting the jock as he fucks him.  The actual words aren’t nearly as noteworthy as how evenly Zach says them, no pauses or gasps for breath even as he drives his hips forward and back in a steady, relentless rhythm.  He commands Jock #2 to shove his cock down his friend’s throat and Chris’ gut clenches – that’s a voice you instinctively obey, and one he’s positive he’s never heard come out of Zach’s mouth before.

Everything about it should be ridiculous: the setting, the dialogue, the fact that, though Zach is now shirtless, he’s pretty sure they never showed the sweater actually coming off.  But Zach’s increasingly brutal thrusts are almost hypnotic, the intensity in his eyes drawing Chris closer and closer to the monitor.  Without even realizing it, he’s unzipped his jeans and is now palming himself roughly through his underwear.  He’s sort of appalled at himself, but fuck if he can stop.

Chris is sure it has to be over any second now, but Zach fucks Jock #1 through a messy orgasm all over the desk and keeps going as Jock #2 shoots his load on the other guy’s face.  Chris is just starting to wonder whether this is actually going to go on forever when there’s a pronounced shift in Zach’s movements, his thrusts fast and shallow.  He pulls out, stripping off the condom and jerking himself hard until he comes in thick stripes across the guy’s back.

It’s not the sight of it but the sound Zach makes – a wild, self-indulgent groan – that yanks Chris’ orgasm up out of him from nowhere.  He hadn’t thought he was even close to coming, but all of a sudden he’s shooting, gasping with surprise and trying belatedly not to get any spunk on the keyboard.  On screen, Zach is tucking himself away, gazing imperiously down at the guy still naked and prone across his desk.

Chris slaps the cover of the laptop shut.  Where the fuck did _that_ come from?

&&&

As luck would have it, Zach is really quite versatile.  He’s been everything from a stripper to a CEO to – in one particular cinematic triumph – a vampire.  Chris would’ve sworn he’d left that whole thing behind him in high school after a seriously ill-advised Anne Rice phase, but the image of Zach tugging that guy’s collar down and actually _sniffing_ like an animal scenting prey before slowly, sensually sinking sharp teeth into his neck leaves Chris’ cock chafed by the end of the week.

He’s only been getting away without spontaneously bursting into shame-flames because he and Zach keep missing each other.  Chris has been assigned later shifts at the restaurant at the same time Zach’s shoots are running long, so they’ve barely spoken in two weeks.  It leaves Chris with too much free time to continue his little online explorations.  He always feels guilty afterward, but since he’s not seeing Zach (in person, anyway) all the time, it somehow feels less real.

Until, that is, he’s waiting for something called “Altar Boy Confessions 3” to download (and he’s Methodist, so it’s totally not a sin).  His phone rings and it is, of course, Zach, sounding not at all like the voice of Chris’ conscience but nonetheless making him feel like a bit of a sleazebag.

“Chris,” Zach says sweetly.  Too sweetly.  “Have I told you what an amazing roommate you are?”

Chris sighs, actually a little relieved that the conversation has a prescribed format to it.  “What do you need?”

“My latest test results.  I tried to call the clinic, but apparently they won’t release that info over the phone and somebody needs the actual physical paper copy, which I got out, but then of course left sitting on my bed.  I didn’t think you had any auditions today, but if you do, don’t worry about it, I’ll figure something else out—”

“Zach, Zach, it’s okay,” Chris says.  He hasn’t had any auditions for a while, sadly.  “I can bring it to you.”

“Thank you, thank you,” Zach gushes.  “I’m at Sunburst this week.  You know where the studio is, right?”

“I’ve got a vague idea, yeah.”

“Great.  I’ll tell Anton at the front desk that you’re on the way and he can send you back to the soundstage.”

Chris doesn’t really think it through until he’s already in the car, trying to hold the Mapquest directions in one hand and the steering wheel in the other.  It doesn’t really surprise him that Zach wants the test results right now – Chris has come to learn that Zach is a notorious stickler for safety, to the point that it has lost him work.  It’s a pretty poor reflection on the industry, Chris thinks, but evidently Zach is good enough to get steady work anyway.  And now, having seen Zach’s particular talents for himself, Chris can believe it.

The studio is utterly forgettable from the outside, a large, well-kept building that could be a collection of offices if it weren’t for the small, nondescript sign reading “Sunburst Studios.”  When Chris walks in the front door, he has no idea what to expect, but is greeted with the sight of a curly-haired kid talking on the phone behind a large and expensive-looking front desk.  He barely looks old enough to be allowed in the building, but he’s speaking with firm authority to whoever’s on the other end of the phone.  When he sees Chris, he mouths _just a sec_ , points to the handset, and rolls his eyes.

“As I’ve said, sir, I can’t guarantee you a private audition.  That’s not how Bruce works.”  A pause.  “Sir, the dimensions of your, um, talent, while impressive, aren’t relevant.  I don’t—”  Another pause; the kid holds the phone away from his ear.  “If you’re going to use language like that, I’m afraid I can’t help you.  Please use the contact form on our website if you have any further questions.”

He hangs up, looks at Chris, and sighs.  “Did you know that every gay or heteroflexible man in the greater Los Angeles area has a ten-inch dick?”

“I’m obviously living in the wrong neighborhood,” Chris deadpans.

The kid laughs.  “Are you Chris?  Zach told me to be on the lookout for a guy with _dreamy_ blue eyes and – this is a direct quote – ‘probably wearing an old grandpa sweater.’”

Chris looks down at the cardigan he grabbed off the back of the couch as he was leaving and frowns.  “This is _his_ sweater.”

Something knowing sparks in the kid’s eyes for just a second, but then it’s gone.  “Uh-huh.  Anyway, I’m Anton.  Zoe’s out today, so I haven’t got time to give you the full tour, but you can follow me.”  He turns and proceeds back through the double doors after swiping an ID card and entering a code.  Chris has seen less security at some banks.

At first, it’s nothing to look at – a few offices full of people behind computers, a copy room, a conference room.  It’s only when they pass through another, obviously soundproofed, set of double doors that they enter the den of iniquity that Chris was expecting.  The noises are the first thing he notices, followed quickly by the smell – sex, of course, but also lube and the unmistakable plasticky odor of makeup under hot lights.  Anton stops a passing guy whose lips look suspiciously red and swollen to ask him, “Hey, any idea which set Zach’s on today?”

“Uh, pirate ship, I think?  Number eleven,” the guy says, and Chris thinks _of course, the pirate ship, what else_?

Chris tries his best to keep his eyes focused straight ahead, but even the bits of conversation he hears are making the color rise in his cheeks.

“Eric shot early again.”

“Jesus, that’s the third time this week.  Get him a fucking cock ring or numbing lube or something.”

“The lights are too bright.  I can’t see the spooge.”

“Oh my god, did somebody take off with the flogger again?  Those things are expensive.”

Chris is sure Anton has paraded him past every other possible set by the time they get to Zach’s, which, sure enough, looks like the deck of a pirate ship.  There’s even a green screen behind it – this is obviously a better-funded studio than the location of Classroom MATH.  Chris is so busy admiring the detail on the ship – is that fake bird crap on the railing? – that Zach has to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention.

When Chris turns around, Zach is not, in fact, in full pirate regalia.  He is, however, in a very fluffy bathrobe embroidered with his initials and – more importantly – eyeliner.  He also hasn’t shaved in a few days, because he’s got some impressively thick stubble going on.  Before he can stop himself, Chris thinks _that is going to give somebody one hell of a rug burn_.  And then, _dammit, I hope I didn’t already use up all the lotion at home_.

But before Chris can say a word, Zach gushes, “Thank you so much.  I know I still owe you for a zillion things, but I owe you, like, a four-course dinner and a trip to Disneyland for this one.  For reals, I’ll buy you monogrammed mouse ears if you want.”

Chris wordlessly hands over the papers with the test results.  His utter astonishment must be written all over his face, because Zach sets a hand on his shoulder and is obviously trying hard not to laugh.  Right, he thinks it’s because of the whole porn set thing.  Well, that’s fine. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Zach says.  "It's like stepping on to another planet back here.  I know this totally isn't your thing, but thanks for braving it anyway."

Chris doesn't even have time to respond before another guy, this one still fully dressed, wanders over.  He's Asian, also dressed as a pirate.  Zach’s ship is in the South China Seas, perhaps?  Chris has no idea what kind of effort is put into historical accuracy here.

The guy looks from Zach to Chris and back again, and his eyes go wide.  "Zacharina, could this possibly be The Roommate?  The next Paul Newman?"

Zach buries his face in his hands.  "Oh my god, John, shut up."

"Or maybe it was Randy Newman," John says, grinning widely as he extends a hand.  "It's Chris, right?  I'm John.  I have no idea if Zach talks about his co-workers to his roommate as much as he does the reverse, but in case you were wondering, today Zach gets the inestimable pleasure of fucking my ass."

Zach groans again, sounding truly pained.  "I'll fuck your mouth right now if you don't shut up."

"Pleased to meet you," Chris says, because really, what else is there to do, and his mom always said that good manners would get him through any awkward situation.  He doubts she had this in mind, though.

“So, uh, this is where I work,” Zach says quickly, obviously trying to keep John from speaking again.  “I mean, it’s not always this… nautical.”  The tips of his ears are starting to turn pink – wait, why is _Zach_ blushing?

John actually comes to Zach’s rescue this time, poking him in the ribs.  “Hey, show him the hat.”

Zach’s face lights up.  “Yes, the hat!  Chris, you’ve got to see this thing.”  He darts over to a portable wardrobe and comes back with the most magnificently garish pirate hat Chris has ever seen.  It’s got feathers from birds that he’s pretty sure went extinct in the Cretaceous period, plus a wide velvet ribbon in a gaudy shade of purple.  It is, without a doubt, a 17th century seafaring pimp hat, and it makes Zach look like the world’s hottest escaped mental patient.

“I will take your silence as a sign of reverent awe,” Zach says very solemnly, spinning around so Chris can get the 360-degree view.

“It’s… What _is_ there to say?” Chris stammers.

John leans in.  “The prevailing theory is that the costumer is trying to get fired, so he keeps coming up with more and more ridiculous shit.  Except the director totally loves it.”

Well, at least it gives Chris a good reason to stare at Zach.  “I mean, can you even… with that thing on?”

“Oh god, I hope not,” Zach says.  “John’s reputation’s really going to suffer if it gets around that he got buggered by a space ostrich.  Then again, maybe that’s not too far off his usual recreational activities.”

“Buggered?” John says, narrowing his eyes.  “Really?”

“He’s just getting into character,” Chris says, and Zach claps him on the back congenially.

“Yes, thank you.  Hoist the mainstays and batten down the hatches.  I’m about to run my Jolly Roger right up your…”

“Poop deck?” Chris suggests.

“Unacceptable,” John groans, but Zach is laughing so hard that the hideous hat, probably not terribly ergonomically balanced in the first place, slides off his head and hits the ground.

“Shit,” Zach mutters, scooping the hat up and looking around guiltily.  “Simon will kill me if I mess this stupid thing up.”

Just then, Chris hears someone call for places, and Zach and John glance at each other.  “Well, back to the grindstone,” John says.  “Chris, it was good to meet you.  And my consolations for having a giant horse’s ass for a roommate.”

“Well, rumor has it he shares other physical attributes with a horse,” Chris says, figuring Zach might as well owe him a fairy princess wand to go with those mouse ears.

John grins that slightly evil grin again and winks at Zach. “Don’t I know it.  Catch you later.”

Without John between them, Zach looks a little nervous again.  “In case you were wondering, yes, I’ve requested a gag, but no, they won’t let me use it on him.”

“Hey, he’s better than pretty much everyone I work with at the restaurant.”

Zach smiles, a hint of pride coming through.  “Well, I’ve got to get back to it.  Thanks again for bringing the papers by – we couldn’t start the hardcore stuff without them.”

“Yeah, uh, no problem,” Chris says.  “I feel privileged – I got to go behind the scenes at a nudie movie.  Something to write home about.”

“Oh god, please don’t,” Zach moans, but he’s smiling.  “Or if you do, don’t mention the hat.  I’d rather people know about the paid-for-sex part than the hat.”

“See you at home,” Chris says, not wondering how it’s going to sound until after he says it.  A couple of sound guys glance over at him.

But if Zach thinks anything of it, Chris can’t tell.  “See ya,” he replies before jogging back to the set, jaunty hat in hand.

Chris quietly sneaks out, trying to retrace the path Anton had taken on the way in.  He can hardly hear the talking and other, less verbal sounds around him, his head is so full of the image of Zach in eyeliner.  Zach laughing, trying to catch that stupid hat before it hit the ground.  Zach about to strip the robe off…

Eventually, Chris makes it out to the lobby, where Anton is once again on the phone.  Fortunately, this conversation seems to have more to do with scheduling some kind of appointment than penis length.  On his way out, Chris waves to Anton, who winks back at him.  _Fuck_ , but that was a dirty wink.  Maybe the kid belongs here after all.

&&&

Something’s got to give, and soon.  Ever since Chris’ visit to the set, it’s been day after day of them dancing around each other in the apartment, of politely arguing over who gets to use the microwave first (“No, you go first.  My Easy Mac can wait.”) and darting past each other in the hallway, trying not to touch.  Zach hasn’t even called him “Chrissy” in weeks.

In a way, Chris is glad the awkwardness isn’t limited to just him.  Once he’d gotten out of the studio and back into the sunlight, Chris had realized that Zach was pretty obviously into him, something his co-workers seemed all too aware of.  How had Chris managed to miss it?  Every now and then, Chris thinks about John letting slip how often Zach talks about him and grins stupidly until he starts to embarrass himself.  Zach _likes_ him.

But how to break the ice?  Ever time Chris starts composing the Big Speech in his head, he makes it as far as “And then I watched your porn and figured out you were hot” and realizes he could never actually say that.  He doesn’t have a lot of pride, but he wants to try to hold on to the little he’s got.

And speaking of porn, that’s just about the only way Chris can face Zach these days.  He tries to tell himself that he doesn’t have a problem, that he’s just making up for many years of _not_ watching porn, but even he doesn’t always believe it.  It’s more of a Zach addiction than a porn addiction.  He doesn’t always jerk off to it, either – sometimes he just wants to watch Zach do his thing.  Zach makes the best of some pretty horrible writing, delivering the lines straight when he can and with tongue firmly in cheek when he can’t.  It’s hard to tell in some of the vids, but he seems to be a pretty considerate top.  Even in the most intense scenes, he always manages to look like he’s having fun, which – from looking at some of the positions – might not always be the easiest task.

Take the one Chris is watching right now, for instance.  The bottom is practically in a headstand with his legs spread and Zach is crouching over him, having to fuck straight down into him even though his body is still mostly vertical.  Chris doesn’t understand how that’s enjoyable for _anybody_ , including the audience, but Zach’s somehow managing to make it look hot instead of distractingly weird.

Chris is watching so intently, in fact, that he doesn’t hear the front door open, even though he’s sitting on the living room couch where anyone around can hear the grunts and moans coming from the screen. 

When Zach chuckles, Chris nearly shoots up off the couch in shock, but at least he’s fully dressed.  “Expanding your horizons now, I see,” Zach says, obviously forgetting to be awkward in favor of teasing Chris.  “Which cinematic masterpiece are you—”

Two things happen in quick succession.  First, Chris realizes that Zach can’t see the screen, so as far as he knows, those sounds could be coming from any gay porno.  As long as Chris shuts the laptop quickly, he should be relatively safe.  And second, before he can move, Zach’s voice comes growling from the speakers: “Take it, bitch.  That’s right, take my fat cock.”

So there goes that plan.

Chris’ brain shuts down, all the blood rushing to his reddening face and, infuriatingly, to his swelling dick.  He doesn’t even have the wherewithal to follow through on his plan and actually shut the laptop, so the sounds of Zach loudly fucking that guy are still echoing around the room.  At least Chris wasn’t in the middle of jerking off.  Or is it ultimately weirder that he wasn’t?  What does it say about him that he’s watching Zach’s porn just to, well, watch Zach’s porn?

Luckily, Zach seems just as flummoxed as Chris.  “So, that’s, uh, one of mine?”

“Yup,” Chris manages, his voice only squeaking a little.

“Which one?”

“Uh… 28 Gays Later.”

“Uh-huh.  Is that… the only one you’ve seen?”

Now would be a very good time for Chris to lie.  “Um.  No.”  _Goddamnit_.

“I… see,” Zach says cautiously, his face betraying nothing.  “Which ones have you seen?”

“I’d say, uh, most of them?  Three-quarters?”

“Wow,” Zach says, breaking eye contact for the first time to stare directly at the floor.  “And did you… did you like them?”

Chris’ mouth goes bone dry, his tongue like a slab of overdone meat in his mouth.  “Did I… what?”

Zach buries his face in his hands.  “Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask that.  It’s like ‘do these jeans make my ass look fat?’  You can’t answer it.”

Once again, Chris’ mouth starts running before he can stop it.  “No, I… I mean, you _can_ … I wouldn’t have watched so much of it if I didn’t like it.”

Zach glances out from between his fingers.  “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”  Well, fuck it.  This might as well happen now, since the ice has been pretty well bludgeoned into oblivion.  Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to have helped Chris’ vocabulary any.  “You’re… It’s… really hot.”

Zach’s hands drop and a grin starts to curl up the corner of his lips.  “Wait, _it’s_ hot, or _I’m_ hot?”

Still, Chris can’t give it up too easily.  “I mean, that guy you were fucking just then, he was pretty cute.”

“Cute isn’t _hot_ , Christopher.”

Okay, Chris might not be the most adept at flirting on purpose, but this is definitely leading somewhere.  He takes a deep breath and goes for it.  “So, that upside-down spread eagle thing.  How exactly do you go about doing that?”

Zach’s cheeks flush an adorable pink and his eyes flash down to the laptop as though he’s thinking _oh god, you’re watching_ that _one_?  But his mischievous little grin doesn’t falter.  “Well, it requires a lot of flexibility… stamina… strong thighs…”

It only _seems_ like Chris’ dick is on fire because the computer, which is still on his lap, has a barely-functional exhaust fan.  Trying to set aside the laptop without revealing he’s in immediate danger of genital burns, he tries to think of an appropriately sexy rejoinder, licking his lips as his brain scans through the possibilities. 

Zach’s eyes go wide a split second before he launches himself over the coffee table at Chris.  The laptop crashes to the floor, lewd sounds still issuing from the speakers, as Chris gets a sudden lapful of Zach and hot, insistent pair of lips against his own.

Some flailing happens, most of it on Chris’ end, before they can line up against each other and Zach can tilt his head to slide his tongue into Chris’ waiting mouth.  Chris can barely kiss back, so aggressive is Zach’s kiss, but it’s fine, it’s _awesome_ , in fact, and Chris moans brokenly into Zach’s mouth.

Suddenly, Zach pulls away.  “Shit.  Are you… Do you want…?”

“Yes!” Chris gasps.  “I want… Just…”  Since the whole word thing doesn’t seem to be working for them anymore, Chris slips a hand behind Zach’s neck and tugs him back down, licking into his mouth eagerly.  Zach hums with delight and sucks on Chris’ tongue, slamming him instantly into full arousal.  Chris fumbles beneath the back of Zach’s shirt, trying to slide his hands down Zach’s jeans, but they’re too tight, and Chris grunts with frustration.

From somewhere on the floor in the general area of the laptop comes an unfamiliar voice shrieking “Yes!  Fuck my manpussy!” and Chris can’t help it – even with Zach hot and aroused on top of him, he giggles.

“Manpussy?” he murmurs against Zach’s lips.

“Oh my god, turn that _off_ ,” Zach groans.

“C’mon, Zach, be proud of your work,” Chris teases, nipping his way across Zach’s jaw until he can suck at the tender spot beneath Zach’s ear like he’s been wanting to for weeks now.

Zach practically growls, pressing himself harder against Chris’ body as he kicks out with one foot.  There’s a thump and a crash and then… silence.  “Zach, what the fuck,” Chris grunts, thrusting up hard.  “You’d better pay to get that fixed.”

He just laughs, the asshole.  “Chris, I don’t think they even make vacuum tubes anymore.”

Chris should probably care more about the busted computer, but it’s suddenly hit him that this is Zach Steelrod, professional sex god and conqueror of manpussy.  The guy that makes other men scream for a living.  And Chris is just… Chris.

Zach must feel him freeze up, because makes a softly apologetic noise and nuzzles into Chris’ hair.  “Hey, I promise I’ll buy you a new one.  One that isn’t powered by steam.”

“I…” Chris starts, suddenly floundering.  He knows how to do sex, he’s had plenty of practice, but it’s all deserting him now.  Should he still be wearing pants?  He doesn’t think he should still be wearing pants.

Luckily, Zach’s expertise comes in handy as he brushes his lips over the shell of Chris’ ear and whispers, “Let me suck your cock.”

Yes, okay, Chris can handle that.  He shoves back on the couch and turns so he can stretch out.  Zach barely waits for Chris to unbutton his pants before he’s on top of Chris, both of them struggling to shove Chris’ pants down and both too stubborn to separate to make it easier.  It takes some wriggling, but Chris finally gets his pants and boxers out of the way, and Zach sets on him like a starving man.

Chris yelps, his body going rigid, half twisting away because Zach is already sucking _hard_ and it’s too much stimulation, too soon.   But then Zach pulls off him just as suddenly, grinning evilly.  “Fucker,” Chris groans, consciously unclenching all his major muscle groups one by one.

“Aw, c’mon, what good is my job if I can’t show off my transferrable skills a little in my downtime?”

Chris almost makes a remark that Zach had better not be transferring his skills to anyone else in his downtime, but it occurs to him that it’s probably too early for that.  So instead, he just growls, “Get back to work, Steelrod.”

He sees Zach’s eyes narrow slightly, almost a wince, but Zach ducks back down, taking Chris in his mouth again, much gentler this time.  “ _Zach_ ,” Chris gasps as the other man’s lips slide slowly and tightly down his cock, and there, that’s what Zach needed to hear – Chris makes a mental note to leave the whole Steelrod thing out of the bedroom.  Or living room, as the case may be.  And he’s holding out hope for the shower, too.

But holy fuck, Zach’s skill is obvious right from the start as he twists his tongue in sinful gyrations over and around the head of Chris’ cock.  Chris lets out a noise that sounds uncomfortably like a whine, his balls already starting to ache as Zach works him steadily with lips and tongue.  And teeth – just the barest hint of teeth, just enough for it to feel dangerous, and Chris is light-headed with bliss.

He needs something else to think about or this is going to be over embarrassingly quickly.  Suddenly, his mouth feels empty, his tongue pushing impatiently at the back of his teeth.  He mutters something that he intends to be “Take your pants off and get up here,” and though it comes out as little more than a series of grunts, Zach seems to get it, nipping at Chris’ belly before sitting up and pulling his own shirt over his head.

They both dispense with the rest of their clothes than, Chris scooting farther down on the couch and stuffing one of the cushions under his head.  Wasting no time, Zach climbs up facing Chris’ feet, straddles his head, and promptly sucks Chris’ cock back down.  Chris moans, suddenly up close and personal with a faceful of hard cock and hairy but neatly trimmed balls.  He goes for those first, craning his head up to nuzzle into all that warm, dark fuzz.  _That’s_ what porn is missing – among other things – the smells.  The heavy scent of clean sweat and growing arousal, filling Chris’ senses and making him moan, lips working against Zach’s sac.

It practically makes Zach purr, a deeply satisfied sound that Chris is positive he’s never heard in a single one of Zach’s videos, a thought that makes Chris grin unashamedly as he reaches up to angle Zach’s dick toward his mouth.  Average for porn it may well be, but it’s still a fuck of a lot of cock to take in.  He’s totally up for the challenge, though, licking wetly at the moisture already beading at the tip until Zach moans with his mouth full.

For a few minutes, there’s nothing but wet, sucking sounds and muted groans, until Zach starts grabbing for Chris’ hand.  Chris almost objects when Zach lets Chris’ cock slide out of his mouth, but then Zach is sucking on two of Chris’ fingers, soaking them purposefully.  That can only mean one thing – Zach “Steelrod” Quinto, winner of GayVN’s 2009 Performer of the Year and all-around bad-ass top, likes having fingers in his ass when he’s getting sucked off.  If Zach had been touching Chris’ cock at all, Chris would’ve come right that second.

As it is, Chris groans appreciatively, pulling his hand back as soon as Zach lets it go.  He temporarily pulls off Zach’s cock to concentrate on watching first one, then two of his fingers push into Zach’s hole.  He feels deliciously tight, but also incredibly comfortable having something up his ass, and Chris’ eyes nearly roll back at the thought that he might actually get to fuck Zach sometime in the near future.

But not now, because Chris is more than ready to shoot, grunting around Zach’s cock as the other man clenches tight around his fingers.  Chris feels his balls start to tighten, the tension mounting low in his belly, and he grunts louder in warning.  Undaunted, Zach sucks harder, tonguing mercilessly at the slit, and with a muffled cry, Chris erupts in his mouth.  Zach swallows it down easily, slowing his movements as Chris’ cock continues to pulse.  Chris has to squeeze his eyes shut, body completely still as he lets the sharp pleasure wash over him.

He’s brought back to reality by Zach’s fingers digging into the swell of his ass – as well as the rather sizeable cock still in his slack mouth.  Chris pulls himself back together, pumping his fingers as he sucks.  It’s a terrible angle and his wrist is going to be sore, but Zach is close, if the way he’s burying his face against the crease of Chris’ hip and panting is any indication.  His hot breath occasionally ghosts across Chris’ spent, sensitive cock, making him shiver.

Zach doesn’t even need to tell him – Chris knows the sound he makes when he’s coming, and any lingering guilt he feels concerning the manner in which he got that knowledge is washed away when he hears his name groaned in that shameless way that never fails to make his head spin with lust.  Zach comes hard, too, clamping down around Chris’ fingers as he spills down Chris’ throat.

With both of them more than a little sex-drunk, it takes quite a bit of fumbling and negotiation before they end up stretched out on the couch facing the same direction.  There is no discussion of cuddling – Zach merely scoops Chris into his arms and holds him close.  It’s never been Chris’ favorite thing, especially when he’s overheated and sweaty, but it’s surprisingly good.  He supposes it’s one thing Zach doesn’t – and can’t – get on the job, so he winds an arm around Zach’s back and nuzzles into his neck, feeling Zach breathe steadily in and out… in and out…

“So,” Zach says, bringing Chris out of a light doze.  “Are we going to talk about you diving so eagerly into my pornographic oeuvre?”

Chris smiles against Zach’s skin.  “Sure.  As long as you tell me the exact context in which you referred to me as ‘the next Paul Newman.’”

“Touché.”

&&&

“You know, if this callback doesn’t work out, I could always cast you in something,” says Karl, trying to be helpful.  Then he leans around the table to peer at Chris’ crotch.  “What are you, seven, eight inches erect?”

“No!  Bad Karl!” Zach pipes up, shooting him a look of doom.  “No hitting on him.”

Karl rolls his eyes.  “I wasn’t inquiring for personal reasons, I just think he obviously has—”

“Give it a rest,” John sighs.  “You know how long Zach’s been trying to get into this one’s pants.”

Zach’s ears go bright red, but he merely glares at John.  “You just wait.  You’re gonna be so jealous when I’m the one fucking Captain Kirk.”

“So he’s gone from insufferably whiny to insufferably smug,” Karl says evenly, taking a manly gulp of his beer.  If Chris tried to do that, he’d get it all over his shirt.  “Is that an improvement?”

“I don’t even know how likely I am to get it,” Chris protests.  “I can’t even believe I got the callback.  I couldn’t have fucked up that first audition worse if I’d set the script on fire.”

Zach turns his laser gaze to Chris.  “You will get that part.”

It would be totally ridiculous if Zach weren’t using _that voice_.  Chris is intimately familiar with _that voice_.  Turns out Zach is actually a pretty easygoing top, and also the world’s bossiest bottom.  He tells Chris exactly what he wants in no uncertain terms, and woe betide Chris if he doesn’t obey.  Last night, for example, Zach instructed Chris to pin his hands and fuck him into the wall, bucking hard against Chris when he wasn’t going fast enough.  It was certainly… motivating.

Embarrassingly, Chris starts to get hard right there at the booth, squirming a little in his seat and hoping the table hides it.  Lucky for him, John and Karl seem to have moved on and are now arguing over whether or not William Shatner ever actually wore a girdle.  Zach, however, sees it, grinning wickedly at Chris and clearing his throat. 

“Well, gentlemen,” he says, “this has been enjoyable, as always, but I believe Chris and I have some urgent roommate matters to attend to.”  Huh, that was surprisingly subtle of him.  “In our pants.”  Or not.

John groans.  “Just go.  Spare us the commentary.”

As he gets up, Chris tries to position his hands in front of his crotch, but he can’t imagine either of them will actually be fazed by a clothed semi.  “It was nice to meet you, Karl.  John, good to see you again.  I hope we can— _oop_.”

Then Zach is dragging Chris away by his belt loop, grunting a vague goodbye over his shoulder to the other two.  “Zach wants sex now,” he says.

“Zach needs to let go of Chris’ belt or he’s going to have a lot of bite marks to explain on set.  Maybe some bruises in the shape of handprints.”

Zach just grins.  “How did I not know what a nasty bitch you are?  I love it.”

They’re nearly to the door when a guy who looks like an Abercrombie and Fitch model but smells like whiskey and feet staggers into their path.  He fixes his eyes on Zach.  “Hey, I know you, aren’t you—”

Zach opens his mouth, but Chris cuts him off.  “Yup,” he says with a sweet smile.  Then he grabs Zach by his front belt loops and tugs him into a hot, possessive kiss.  After all, what good is dating a porn star if you can’t show off just a little bit?

When he finally lets Zach go, Zach just looks at the guy – whose jaw is practically on the floor – and shrugs.

They both make a quick exit, giggling like kids the second they make it to the parking lot.  Zach leans into Chris, whispering in his ear and groping at his ass.  “ _My_ nasty bitch.


End file.
